Wine, water and song

The consummate example of “saving the best for last” comes in the Biblical Gospels. Perhaps ironically, it is the very first record of Jesus performing a miracle.

Going above and beyond the call of a wedding guest, he acts — at his mother’s behest — when the wine runs out, converting water into the finest vintage, much to the wedding party’s surprise.

The Book of John records the response: “Everyone serves the good wine first, and when people have drunk freely, then the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.”

I bring all this up to soften the blow of one of my most unpopular musical opinions: Chicago, the band, was at its best when it was burning down the house with power ballads.

The band, which plays the University of Missouri Concert Series next Sunday, has a history that can not-so-neatly be divided into two eras.

Arriving on the scene with 1969’s “Chicago Transit Authority,” the band established itself among a class of artists leading rock ‘n’ roll through an evolutionary period. Simpler, poppier forms of the genre were transforming into more progressive ones, influenced by the time changes and extended instrumental breaks of jazz, as well as the groove orientation of soul and funk.

The band’s first act included tunes such as the devilishly bombastic “Questions 67 and 68,” the swirling, swinging “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?,” the skittering, bass-heavy “I’m a Man,” the burrowing “25 or 6 to 4” and the jubilant “Saturday in the Park.”

The 1970s hadn’t fully given way to the ‘80s — though the decade could be seen from a distance — when Chicago began to shift shapes, at least in terms of its public, commercial presence. Peter Cetera’s romantic, expressive tone gave the band a chance to plunge fully into the waters of balladry.

It’s not as if the band hadn’t executed terrific ballads before — “Colour My World,” “If You Leave Me Now” — but by the time the ‘80s touched down, that was the primary way it related to radio audiences. Cetera sang his heart out on cuts such as “Hard to Say I’m Sorry,” “You’re the Inspiration” and shared the mic with Bill Champlin on “Hard Habit to Break.”

Chicago, which had been a platinum-selling force from quite early in its career, hit its zenith in 1984 with “Chicago 17,” a record that went platinum six times over.

Once Cetera left to make his own fortune, Champlin picked up where he left off, selling songs such as “Will You Still Love Me?” and “Look Away.”

There’s much for Chicago fans — and even members of the band itself — to criticize about this period. While these songs were hits, they blended in much more easily with the pop chart-toppers of the day, robbing Chicago of some of that early, distinct magic. Some of the band’s late-’80s hits were even written or co-written by pop’s great hired guns, songwriters such as David Foster and Diane Warren.

And yet I love this period of the band. We can’t shake our lived experience and, as is often the case, gravitate to what we encounter at an early age. When I first really became hooked on radio, around age 11 or 12, the small Arizona town in which lived has two stations. One played country music, the other pop and rock hits of the day.

Since the day was the early 1990s, I was treated to a diet of recent singles by the likes of Sting, Phil Collins, Bryan Adams, Don Henley, and, yes, Chicago. While my tastes have matured, and I’ve moved on to much more “respectable” artists, I owe something to those early learning experiences.

Much of what I understand about melody, song structure, about taking a song to the bridge comes from those days and has informed how I think about the rules — whether making or breaking them — of popular music.

As is the case with any band that has endured this long, 2018’s Chicago is both more and less than a sum of its parts. The band’s lineup features original members Robert Lamm, Lee Loughnane, James Pankow and Walt Parazaider, while mixing in more recent players.

And no doubt the band’s live show is a middle ground between its two major periods, though recent setlists suggest a lean toward the early, more technically interesting years.

When it comes to Chicago eras, every listener is free to judge for him or herself. But I’m only slightly ashamed to say that, to my ears, early Chicago is good wine. Later Chicago, the Chicago that seems watered-down to many, is even better wine.

Chicago plays Jesse Auditorium at 8 p.m. March 11. Tickets range from $81.50 to $137.50. Visit concertseries.missouri.edu for more details.

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